One at a Time
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: [Kinktober 2017 series 08: Deep-Throating/Face-Sitting] Q gets a first-hand look at Bond's field ; Bottom Q.


**Haven't wrote these dudes in a bit. Kinktober is really great for that, it seems. Sorry this one was late because the prior one was late.**

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Day 08: Latex | Roleplay | **Deep-Throating/Face-Sitting**

"You know as well as I do that seduction is part of many of my missions, but you never seem to understand why they keep coming back," is how 007 announced his presence one afternoon when Q had thought he was alone in his office. "Would you like to?"

And that was how Q ended up back at his flat with a Double-O.

Now, how he ended up here, in his own bed, straddling said Double-O's shoulders with his cock down the man's throat and calloused hands gripping his arse to keep him in place… well, Q hadn't the foggiest. All Q did know was that his pelvis was pressed flat to 007's face and had been that way since they started, and the muscles of the spy's throat were working steadily around him because it seemed 007 neither had a gag reflex or a need to breathe.

A particularly firm swallow around his cock had Q falling forward, hand reaching for his headboard and head falling between his shoulders. His arms and his legs were shaky from the untold length of time he'd been stimulated, and he was dripping with sweat, his glasses continuously slipping down his nose. A slightly distorted Bond was staring up at him with hooded eyes, seemingly unbothered by the cock in his mouth. Q often suspected the man could never be 'caught' doing anything because he always had an air of being right where he needed to be. He was like a cat that way.

"I thought-" Q started and then choked off when the hands on his arse began to knead the muscles, pushing him into a little rocking rhythm. "I thought we were going to fuck," he managed to finally say after several false starts.

He'd meant it as a prompt, to get to the grit of it, and he gave a noise of dismay when the hands on his arse smoothed around his hips to push him back instead, his cock sliding out of 007's throat.

"My dear quartermaster," Bond practically purred, voice only a little hoarser than normal. "We have all night. Why would we want to jump to the finish line?"

Q frowned at him and had his mouth open to rebuttal when Bond swallowed him down again, one hand sliding back around to push at his lower back and the other disappearing from him altogether. A moment later though, he forgot his argument entirely when Bond swallowed around him and pressed a slick finger against his hole. The cold, wet touch made him jump, but since he was already deep-throating the man, there was nowhere else to go, no way to escape the finger that pushed into him without pause.

It wasn't a thick finger, not by any means, but it had been some time since Q had either masturbated or engaged in sex with a partner, and the minimal stretch made him moan. He tried to push back onto it, but the hand at the base of his spine kept his groin pressed to Bond's face, forcing him to take the throat around his cock and the single finger in him. He could feel the mouth around him shift, perhaps a smile, and he managed to pull one of his hands from the headboard to stroke through Bond's short hair with a hoarse, " _Please_."

By way of answer, Bond hummed around him, making him jerk, and began working his finger in and out of Q. He had anticipated a second finger being added shortly after, for there was hardly any stretch just from the one finger, but as he waited and waited and waited, he realized it wasn't coming. A sound left his throat, not that he could be sure of what it was or even if it was a coherent word, and his nails scraped across Bond's scalp when his fingers convulsed, but the Double-O refused to let him pull out of his mouth and he refused to add another finger.

He also quite pointedly refused to search out Q's prostate.

Q couldn't have said how long it took before he felt the familiar rise of his orgasm, despite all the teasing, and he gasped out a warning. To his surprise, yet again, Bond pulled his finger out and pushed Q's hips back, pushing him from the warm channel of his throat. With a despairing cry as the rise began to fall, he tried to grab his erection, only to be stopped by strong fingers around his wrists. He felt like sobbing at the loss.

"If I were your mission, I'd have half a mind to throw you off the balcony," he finally managed to say some time later, when his heart was more under control and he found his voice. Bond just smiled against his hip and kept up the strokes against Q's flank. "I have half a mind to do it anyway."

"I thought our lovely Quartermaster had more patience than this," Bond said, voice light. Q stared down at the blond head against his stomach. "Dear Q, we've only just begun."

Q wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but there was a dark promise in Bond's voice that made him want to run as far away as possible… or maybe run towards danger as fast as his feet could carry him.

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There was no question about it: Q was absolutely, positively, 100% _sobbing_.

After Bond had deep-throated him and fingered him with that one finger, had pushed him to the edge of orgasm only to stop it all, he'd done it again. And again. And again. The second time, he'd started right off the bat with two fingers instead of just the one, holding Q steadily in his throat. Right when Q had reached the edge, he'd pulled away yet again, stroking Q's sweat-slick skin until he'd calmed. The third time, he'd done it all over again, everything the same, except the addition of the third finger. By the time Bond pulled away that time, Q's arms and thighs had been quivering, even though he'd held himself in more difficult poses for longer.

After Bond had done it a fourth time, with an accompanying four finger, Q had practically clung to his head, begging and pleading for release, his entire body strung tighter than a violin string, reading for a bow to slide across him so he could sing his tune. He didn't know if he asked for anything else besides release, he didn't know if he promised anything in exchange for that sweet relief, he wasn't even sure if what left his mouth was English or a language at all. Through it all, Bond just smiled and hushed him and calmed him until Q was curled over him, forehead resting on his headboard because he wasn't sure he could hold it up any longer. That was when Bond came back.

With five fingers.

By the time Bond's whole fist was inside Q, he was only upright because of the hand at his back and the throat around his cock. His legs were barely sustaining him, and his arms were limp against the other man's shoulders. The spy could have asked him anything in that moment: launch codes, nobility secrets, Q's real name, and Q would have answered without pause. If he could work his tongue at all. He was pretty sure he was making sounds, he just wasn't sure what they were.

It was so strange to feel so overstimulated even though his cock was essentially in nothing more than a sparsely-conversing cock warmer, albeit one that had almost come four prior toys, and his arse had been stretched wider than it ever had, but his prostate hadn't been touched once. Until Bond widened his fist and brushed against his knuckles against Q's prostate.

It wasn't an orgasm, at least Q didn't think so, but a white wash of pleasure blanked out his vision. It happened when Bond spread his fist again, and then again and again, until Q felt like he was caught in a tide, blind as he was pushed and pulled on waves of unyielding pleasure, overwhelmed and floating. It was only a matter of time before he sunk beneath the surface.

As difficult as it was to determine if the stimulation of his prostate induced an orgasm, the sensation now was unmistakable. The way every last nerve center in his body lit up like a flash grenade, turning the world into white noise and release sung through his limbs.

It was the best orgasm he'd ever had, or likely would ever have again.

When his awareness began to return to him, he was still trembling with the aftershocks and he was kneeling in Bond's lap. There were still fingers in his arse, two, maybe three, just sitting there, stroking the insides of his walls without really moving, avoiding his prostate and yet still making him shiver. There was another hand in his hair, calloused fingers stroking through the sweaty strands and keeping him relaxed as he was plastered against the man's chest. Bond was silent, his breath steady under Q's cheek, but there was an undeniable hardness pressed against the back of his thigh, one that he wasn't sure he had the energy to deal with in any way, either reciprocation or as a receptacle.

"Guh," he managed to say, not that he knew what it meant or what he'd intended to say. He could barely get his tongue to work.

"It looks like I finally found a way to make our sharp-tongued quartermaster speechless," Bond rumbled from above his head, a smile clear in his voice.

it took several tries, but eventually Q managed to wrangle in his ability to speak, but what came out wasn't the rebuttal he'd been going for. "You do this for all your missions?"

Bond chuckled. "I never have the time," he said. And then after a pause, "Nor really the inclination."

"Then why-" Q started, only for Bond to cut him off.

"The secret, Q, is to pleasure your partner first," Bond imparted, voice solemn, almost lecturing, even though he still had one hand in Q's hair and the other in Q's arse. "When I bring someone into my bed - or follow them into theirs, I don't think about myself until I've taken them apart and they're ready to spill all their darkest secrets. And on that note, you fall apart quite beautifully. I can't wait to do it again."

Q choked. "Again?" he echoed. He'd never come so hard and he doubted he could accomplish anything close to it again, much less get hard, no matter what foreplay Bond had in mind. At least, now, he was starting to understand why Bond's honeypot missions were so successful; who could deny such a man that could play your body better than you yourself could.

"Of course. You invited me over with the intent to fuck, which I was quite looking forward to." The hand in his hair tightened and tugged gently, pulling him to sit back on Bond's thighs so Bond could catch his eye. The look there, and the smirk on his lips, made Q shudder at the dark promise held within. "I told you, Q: we have all night. I intend to use it."

FIN

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 **I hadn't actually planned the fisting, which is actually one of the three prompts for the 24th and idk if I'll do it again. We'll see. Hope you enjoyed.**

 **Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, tagged/One-at-a-Time).**


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